


Farewell, Old Friend

by backbiter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: I hate this show so much, Other, Spoilers 8x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backbiter/pseuds/backbiter
Summary: After so much suffering, he deserved better than that, didn't he?// A re writing of that death scene from 8x03 because I love said character and the show never quite got the grasp of him. Spoilers I guess.





	Farewell, Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Theon Greyjoy has been my favorite character for years now. While I know the books are a whole other deal, I can't help but feel sad at what happened tonight. It felt wrong. 
> 
> So here's my version of it. It was also a coping mechanism.

All his life he tried to prepare himself for winter, but it still hadn't been enough. He could feel the cold breeze entering his body, flowing through his blood, pumping to his heart, and whispering the song of death he was so used to by now.

 _Theon_ , it sang, the long night. For so long he dreamt of embracing it, giving in to the throbbing melody of souls and shadows. But oddly enough, tonight of all nights, he realized he wanted to live.

He stared at Bran Stark, the young wise, in front of him. He supposed the lack of anger should have been enough to settle his heart, but it hadn't. He had craved it. He wanted the Starkling to scream at him, yell until his eyes were blood and his cheeks were fire. Theon understood wrath. Once upon a time he had plenty of it.

Until it was washed away. Theon understood wrath, but it was Reek who understood numbness. It was Reek who simply nodded and complied as the world melted away in the background. Reek was silence, the wind passing by in a cold night. _You have to remember your name_. Theon. Theon Greyjoy, who wanted to live and breathe and sing. Theon Greyjoy, who wanted to fight. Theon Theon Theon Theon Theon Theo-

"Why are you here, Theon Greyjoy?" Bran startled him by asking, his voice so unlike his face, old and raspy.

"To protect you, Lord Stark," he replied, automatically, before his brain even had the time to process.

Bran just stared, with his impassive eyes, giving nothing away. After a while, he simply said, "I see."

The boy turned his wheelchair in the direction of the weeping tree, and made a gesture beckoning Theon, inviting him to join.

"I have to shield you, Bran. We need to be ready."

"We've a while to wait still." He touched the tree in front of him. "The old gods, the new gods. The lord of light, the drowned god, the children. It's all the same. It's life." Bran said, his moving body staring emotionless to the still body of a screaming plant. "It is life, Theon Greyjoy. Can't you notice it?"

For a while he couldn't. But then he closed his eyes, and a swarm of memories called to him, from every sense. He heard and smelled and tasted and felt. But more than anything, he could **see**.

A boy in the Iron Islands, small and fragile, being seized and taken to a foreign land because the lord in the north had commanded it.

A young man in Winterfell, a sword in his hand, fighting for a king he loved, his brother, but who would never ever be his family.

He saw a boat of war and salt, two children floating in a soundless thunderstorm, a castle of death and blood, lips of pain and cruelty, a bride of white and brown and red red red red red red red. A wall. A jump.

For seconds he saw nothing.

Then he was back, grasping for air.

He heard the sound of death calling and prepared his arrow.

_Why was he there?_

"Get ready. Protect the boy," Theon said, confidence in his voice.

It was a lost battle. He had known all along. So much pain, so many tears, so much endless suffering. Why didn't he get to live? Would it be so bad, for him to survive?

He shot another arrow, and another, and another. His hand burned from the movements, more than from the fire, but he welcomed the pain. This was the pain of the living, and hell if he wasn't alive right now.

 _Theon Greyjoy_.

Captive. Ward. Murderer. A False Stark. A False Greyjoy. A Prisoner. A Survivor. All of it.

_All of it._

As the arrows near their end, he fought with everything he had. His bare hands and strong fists, the pain wallowed inside his bones. All of it. Alive.

He looked at Bran Stark. So many would say his downward spiral had started with Bran Stark, but that wasn't true, was it? His life had already been decided for him. Who he would be, where he would stay, who he could trust.

_Not now._

He had seen darkness in the face before. The creature before him neared it, but he was not quite as afraid of it. He didn't fear the after; simply longed for more. What could've been.

"Why are you here, Theon Greyjoy?" Bran Stark asked from the tree. But he knew the answer now.

_Prisoner. Ward. Traitor. Kraken scum, Wolf Lover. Weak. Reek. Coward. All of it._

Theon Greyjoy.

"I am here," and he prepared his bow, empty as it was, a smirk on his face. He was there. "I am here, because I want to be here."

He striked, with everything he had. With love, and pain, and life. So much life.

And as the long night reached him, he was smiling.


End file.
